


if i cannot bend heaven, i will raise hell

by esteemed_professor



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Act III spoilers, short and not-so-sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteemed_professor/pseuds/esteemed_professor
Summary: The time has come for Fatebinder-turned-Archon Inkar to face the Court's judgement. And unfortunately for the Adjudicator, his former vassal is just itching to exercise the considerable extents of her newfound power.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for context: the scene starts right after Tunon tries to send Bleden Mark to the naughty corner for trying to stab his boss. sucks to suck, mark.

He is vaguely aware of a number of things -- the polished marble floor beneath him, the smell of singed flesh, the searing pain behind his eyeballs. In fact, _everything_ is quite painful at present, but not nearly as much as it should, and he can’t quite parse out why that is until it strikes him that this is most certainly _not_ the plane of Illumination. Which, last he checked, is where he _ought_ to be.

No, this is not the Archon of Shadows’ own personal hell, because he is, for some reason, still in Tunon’s Court. And even as his mind struggles to make sense of this revelation, further details of the current situation continue to flood his senses - the ugly screeching sound of metal rending metal, a heavy, coppery scent in the air that he is quite sure does _not_ originate from himself, and the drone of a decidedly familiar voice nearby. That last part is what pushes him to raise himself onto his elbows and finally see what’s going on for himself.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to break other people's’ toys, Tunon?”  

Fatebinder -- no, _Archon_ \-- Inkar stands where Mark was just a few seconds ago, facing down the Adjudicator with practiced poise and her usual cool composure. Tunon, on the other hand, is struggling to regain his footing, and it seems that-- _yes_ \-- the heady scent of blood is most definitely originating from an ugly gash in the Adjudicator's left shoulder. Inkar shifts her weight, and Mark catches sight of the familiar bronze glint of Dauntless’ blade. If breathing wasn’t so difficult right now, he’d laugh at Tunon’s poor fortune; that sword is going to be a bitch to parry, even for an Archon as powerful as him.

And it _is_ , but the Adjudicator soon finds that the enchanted blade is hardly his most pressing concern when facing down Inkar. The former Fatebinder’s martial prowess -- while exceptional -- is far from her most formidable trait, and it is her mastery of the arcane that really does Tunon in. As it happens, Mark is barely back on his feet by the time the battle is all but finished, with comparably minor injuries on the side of the victor. A fine crack runs the length of Tunon’s mask, and he has fallen to his knees, using his Gavel for support in order to maintain some form of upright posture.

Inkar’s companions have made their way up from the lower dias to the upper chambers, and it is only now that it hits Mark that they did not join her during the stand-off. The Archon of Shadows allows himself to feel something like pride towards his former student at having defeated one of the most powerful Archons in Teratus in single combat. He tries not to think too hard about what that says in regards his own skills when compared to the Adjudicator. It wasn’t a fair fight, anyways. Tunon totally cheated.

Mark snaps out of his own musings to the realization that the two Archons have apparently just concluded some private conversation, because Tunon finally seems to be giving up his feeble grasp on life. And it is to _everyone’s_ surprise that Inkar abruptly reaches out to catch the dying Archon by the front of his robe and steady him. The corners of her mouth twist into a cold smile.

“I did not give you permission to die, Adjudicator.”

 

~

 

When Lantry has at last assured her of Tunon’s stable condition, and Kills-in-Shadow has at last been convinced that sparing the Adjudicator was a necessary move in the greater game, and Verse has _at last_ stopped _bitching_ about not being able to add another tick-mark to her ‘number of Archons killed’ list - only then does Inkar turn her attention to the rest of the Court. Her fellow Fatebinders seem to regard her with a mixture of fear and awe - _as well they should_ \- but at least they address her in much the same manner they did when she was the student and they the teachers. She briefly considers giving Calio shit about butting in during the trial, despite previous assurances at Vendrien’s Well, but decides against it. Better that the Fatebinders think they owe her in some way. That could be useful in the future.

The newly appointed Archon of the Tiers makes it almost as far as the exit before Bleden Mark makes his suitably theatrical appearance. The shadows directly in her path shift and shudder and coalesce into a familiar figure, and Inkar obediently halts her retreat to allow the Archon of Shadows to materialize in front of her. She doesn’t quite have the energy to plaster on another fake smile, and since she knows him to despise sycophants anyways, settles for a small smirk. She’s allowed a bit of smugness right now, in her own _humble_ opinion.

“So, was that all just for my benefit or did you actually have a reason for putting on your little show?” He’s flashing her one of those smiles that’s more akin to a hound baring its teeth than any human show of amiability. Once upon a time, the expression made her nervous. Right now, all it does is amuse her.

“Don’t be silly,” she replies, smoothing out the frayed edges of the Binding of Shadows wrapped around her wrist. Mark’s eyes narrow, just a hair, and she barely suppresses the urge to outright cackle with glee. _My, how the tables have turned._ “I’m sure your ego will heal.”

They’ve always had a bit of a rapport going between them - ever since she passed his training as the sole survivor of the course, anyways. But trading wit with the Archon of Shadows is a bit like walking blindly into a lion’s den and hoping you won’t get mauled; it requires equal measures of caution and recklessness, and there’s still no guarantee that you’ll survive the encounter. Somewhere in the last few hours, however, their dynamic has shifted dramatically. He’s still liable to try eviscerating her just for kicks, but at least now he knows that it’s unlikely he’d escape that encounter with his life intact.

None of this shows in either of their manners, of course. That would be giving one too much power over the other. So Mark only snorts, as if she’d attempted to appeal to his humor and fallen flat, though his predatory smile never fades. “You never intended to kill Tunon in the first place.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Contrary to popular belief, I have a great deal of respect for Tunon, and I think he’s quite good at his job. So, no, this was never going to be an execution for the Adjudicator. So sorry to disappoint.”

He knows the answer to the question he’s about to voice before he asks it. She can see it in his eyes. “So why provoke a fight? Even after he declared you innocent?”

“Well,” she drawls, and now it’s her turn to smile - the sharp kind, a mirror of his own slightly threatening expression. “I wanted to see what you’d do, of course.”

She doesn’t wait to see his reaction before moving forward to eventually brush past him and out the door. Only when they are nearly abreast of each other does he finally say, “Hope I didn’t disappoint,” in a tone of wry amusement.

She stops short of passing him, stepping just a little closer than necessary so that their arms purposely brush against one another. They’re almost the same height, and when their eyes meet - vibrant green boring into molten gold - neither seems willing to back down from the unspoken challenge. So Inkar just keeps smiling and says, “ _Never_ , darling.”

She knows he’s still scrutinizing her when she finally makes her exit, even if those golden eyes have long since dissolved with the rest of him into a murky haze that seeps into the corners of the Court with the last dying rays of the sun. _Beware the shadows_ , the common folk say, their voices hushed in fearful reverence, _Bleden Mark might be watching_.

The Archon of the Tiers laughs softly to herself. _Oh, I’m counting on it._

**Author's Note:**

> we need more tyranny fic on here omg 
> 
> this is like the first thing i've written since september and took a really long time to finish, so pls be gentle, i am a fragile soul. hopefully there will be more to come! soon. ish. idk. eventually.


End file.
